


Rent-a-Bat

by batsaboutbats



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Corporal Punishment, M/M, Spanking, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27764455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsaboutbats/pseuds/batsaboutbats
Summary: It’s just like Bruce to rent him through Roy's stupid app instead of picking up a damn phone to call him(Fic Prompt)
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 82





	Rent-a-Bat

**Author's Note:**

> https://cereza-bat.tumblr.com/post/635065068652052480/fic-prompt  
> Wrote this little drabble as a response to this :D Enjoy!

It’s just like Bruce to rent him through Roy's stupid app instead of picking up a damn phone to call him. 

He should leave but even after everything that’s happened he can’t-- tethered beyond comprehension to this concrete toilet of a city and  _ bastard man _ . When he first spotted him, his immediate thought was that Bruce only came to lecture him. Probably about the dangers of social media and linking himself to such an account,  _ blah blah blah _ . (Like Nightwing didn't have an Instagram account where he posted all his aerial photos.)

The only trouble is that Bruce wouldn’t do that out of costume.  _ Especially _ not in public, sitting on a bench in a crowded park. Batman would have tracked him down and made his disapproval loud and clear. With his fists.

He edged closer, making sure to keep out of sight. Bruce’s profile became visible enough from his vantage point to realize the man actually  _ is _ in costume. It’d been years since he last saw Matches Malone in action and while the hint of silver at his temples was new the sunglasses aren’t. 

They weren’t anything special, just a pair of knock off Raybans that Jason had stolen for kicks as a kid. He’d thought he'd been so slick, perching the stolen goods on top of his head as he ate Alfred’s roast dinner. The sharp eyed stare he’d gotten from the head of the table left him feeling like his stomach dropped.

He’d been beaten by his father and the parade of men his mother ‘dated’ many,  _ many _ times. But he’d never been spanked until he’d lived under Bruce’s roof.

Swallowing around the uncomfortable memory, he tried not to pay any mind to the flush creeping up his neck. It hadn’t _ hurt _ , at least not badly enough to leave any lasting damage. Only his pride was injured after getting taken over Bruce's knee. He'd tried to get away, but Bruce had pinned both of his arms behind his back with one hand and lit his ass on fire with the other.

It had been hard to sit down on his bed afterwards, but he did it with a red face and held in the tears while Bruce confiscated the sunglasses. He didn’t steal anything again after that. It hadn’t been the last time during his tutelage that he’d gotten disciplined, but it was rare. Something about the way Bruce handled him and the trouble he brought had made him eager to be  _ good  _ for the man who rescued him.

The last time Bruce had done it, he’d been fifteen and smoking again. He was stressed about balancing his classes with his night job and just full of _ teenage angst _ . Looking back it was comical, considering the aftermath. Just like a goldfish in a bowl, unaware how precariously close he was to tipping off the edge. His world had been so small back then.

He may or may not have gotten sloppy drunk on Bruce’s ludicrously expensive scotch, but he definitely put a cigarette out on some important papers.  _ Dick's adoption papers _ . All ready and raring to be filed, save for the circus boy's seal of approval.

Bruce hadn’t said a word when he found him in the study. He’d just pressed him face down against the desk and pulled his sweats down, taking his briefs with them. Jason hadn’t been coordinated enough to fight back, even though he’d been mad. They’d been fighting over something stupid, how Bruce wasn’t home as much and so deep into his night work that Jason felt invisible unless he was dressed as a walking traffic cone. He’d just wanted to do something, anything, to get Bruce to notice  _ Jason _ and not Robin. 

He’d gotten his full attention that night. Bruce hadn’t ever taken his underwear off before. Nobody had ever touched him like that either, despite the nasty gossip columns and Vicki Vale's insinuations. 

Puberty had long since hit him and it wasn't the first stiffy he'd popped at the most inopportune moment. He hadn't realized he was even hard until a sharp blow made his hips jump, jabbing his erection up against the desk. It hurt as much as it felt good, a maddening sort of relief followed by the sharp ache at the abuse. There had been no give, no softness, just the stern hand at his back and the unyielding desk in front.

Drunk, hormonal and eager for attention, he didn’t even make it halfway through before he creamed himself. He’d lost control of his legs when he did, Bruce’s sturdy hand pinning his shoulders the only thing that keep him upright. It had been one of the most humiliating experiences in his short life, trying to squirm away from his punishment and hide his shameful reaction.

Bruce hadn't stopped. He wasn't entirely sure that Bruce even knew what he’d done. All Jason was certain of was that everything hurt when it was over,  _ even his balls _ . One strike grazed them and it was the last straw that had broken him. He’d sobbed incoherently into the grain of the desk, getting his tears all over Dick's stupid fucking paperwork. When Bruce left, he’d been unable to get up for hours, only limping back to his room in the early dawn. 

If he'd left a mess it was gone by morning, wiped up without a trace. 

Bruce knew he was there, cocking his head towards his direction. It pissed him off. A few street vendors were scattered throughout the park. He didn't know what came over him as he stepped directly into Bruce's line of sight and stole a magazine right off the stand. It was a gossip rag, worthless tissue to wipe his ass with, but Bruce Wayne's gorgeously airbrushed mug was plastered over the front.

He felt victorious as he opened the pages, soaring on the high right until he turned to face the man on the bench. He recognized that look, having seen it before. Irrationally, he nearly stuffed the book into the back of his pants, like a naughty Tom Sawyer. When Bruce stood up and began to march towards him, he abandoned his ill gotten gains and  _ ran _ . If he was hard, he'd just blame it on the adrenaline. 

Bruce would have to catch him first though.

**Author's Note:**

> Does Bruce catch him? We'll never know. >:3c


End file.
